


Beyond the Veil

by saccharineSylph



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ferdinand is indulgent, Grief/Mourning, Hubert has a pet snake, Hubert has strange hobbies, I honestly don't have tags for this, M/M, No War Happened Everyone Is Fine, Sickfic?, Theatre, Wakes and Funerals, Weird variations on hurt/comfort, deathplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26983951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saccharineSylph/pseuds/saccharineSylph
Summary: “You think it obscene,” Hubert scoffed.“No, not at all. I… it cannot be so unusual, that fixation, certainly. And you are sure it is not—““No, it is not,” Hubert said with extreme prejudice.“Alright. Alright. Forgive me. I just want to be sure. But… Hubert, this is nothing to be ashamed of. You… this cannot be that unheard of. Do you have the supplies you need?”“Yes,” Hubert said, swallowing tightly.“Then… what time shall we begin?”--Where Ferdinand indulges in some of Hubert's fantasies, and finds they are not nearly what he expected from the man, and stranger, how closely he aligns with them.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If you're thinking, "Haven't I read this?" Yes! This is a repost from a side account and I need to quit being a weenie, so I moved it to my main account where all of you can see my shame. LMAO.

“Duke Aegir.”

It was so rare for Lord Vestra to call Ferdinand by his name in public, not by his title. Especially in the counsel room of the Emperor. It was foreign enough that the Prime Minister did not lift his head at first, focusing on stacking the notes for the meeting as they adjourned. 

“Duke Aegir,” as ever, the Emperor spoke louder, and indicated Lord Vestra with a single fingertip when Ferdinand finally took notice.

“Yes, Hubert?” He asked, tucking his own chair in, and a few for delegates who had been rude enough to leave theirs pushed aside.

“Might we take tea in private? I have… a matter to discuss with you.”

“A matter?” That piqued Edelgard’s attention, and she turned her face the way an eagle might, regarding him as prey.

“Nothing of dire consequence, I assure you, your majesty. I do not wish to trouble you with such…”

Nerves congealed in Hubert’s throat uncomfortably, and he found himself tugging at his tight collar, disguising the gesture as smoothing his lapels.

“Personal matters.”

Now a smile came across the Emperor’s hawklike features, and she wrinkled her nose, a treat seen only by those closest to her. The Imperial Consort had appeared at her side by then, brows lifted and a slow, smug grin creeping across her mouth.

“Professor, _please._ ” Hubert so seldom used the second word it tasted strange on his tongue.

Byleth’s brows were rising up to her hairline. Ferdinand, at the very least, was unbowed, and rescued poor Hubert from the two women who could very well eat the man alive.

“I’d be happy to. Come, I’ll fix you some coffee.”

Edelgard’s laughter was between fond amusement and something knowing and sinister as the Jewels of the Empire departed, Ferdinand tugging his counterpart’s arm gently.

❦

“Now, what is this about, heartwood?”

They had returned to Hubert’s office, an affair of dark mahogany paneling on the walls, shelves filled with cursed books and a fine painting of the Emperor with her two Jewels over the desk. The shutters to the grand windows were open for once, overlooking the Empress’ red rose garden.

Of course, the most prized resident of Hubert’s office was not Hubert, but his pet snake, a white ball python, a gift from the Emperor. Most visitors were terrified, but Ferdinand was delighted to greet her.

“Hello Hemlock, how is our pretty girl today?”

Normally such actions calmed Hubert from his bad moods. If he was having a particularly rough day, Ferdinand would drape her around his shoulders like a great stole, but yet, Hubert paced in circles like an anxious black panther.

Ferdinand had never seen Hubert look so… flighty, and he had seen him in bed, spilled back, eyes wide in alarm. The lance and heavy armor training had paid off in ways he hadn’t expected. Hubert fidgeted and squirmed even when he sat down, like a bug in a net, which set Ferdinand’s teeth on edge as he readied the serving cart.

“Is it… us?” Ferdinand finally asked, setting the metal coffee pot, a gift of Almyra, atop the tray. “I have done my best to be so careful—“

“Ferdinand, stop. No. That is not… what this meeting is for.”

Ferdinand hummed, unsure, but poured his coffee anyway, pressing it into his hands. Maybe the man just hadn’t had his caffeine that day. He had seen it before, on mornings when they had been together, and Hubert had moved like he had been run over by the whole cavalry.

“Then enlighten me, you awful man,” Ferdinand huffed, stirring his tea with a bit more force than he intended, and felt the need to apologize to the chinaware.

“There is,” Hubert began, clearing his throat, “There is something I wish to, experiment, with you.”

Ferdinand overpoured the tea with a yelp. “If this is the candle thing, I will not have it! Your skin is too sensitive and you were pink for _weeks_!” He cried.

Hubert curled his lip and hastily rescued the white lace tablecloth from the spilt tea.

“No, you idiot, it is not the candle _thing_ , it is… something else. That requires very little from you, except understanding.”

“My heartwood, I assure you, at this point, I should hope we have reached some level of understanding,” Ferdinand said, sinking into the chair across from him, “I am not sure what you think you’ll surprise me with when it comes to your desires. I _am_ sure you are aware that if it something I find objectionable to my person, I would refuse, but not hold it to your character.”

“This is… different,” Hubert trailed off, hiding half of his face in one of his black-gloved hands.

“It does not involve horses, does it?”

“ _Ferdinand."_

Thinning his lips, Ferdinand set the teacup aside, stealing across the small table to take Hubert’s hands, no matter how much the man groused. They were brought to his lips, lingering.

“Whatever it is, cherished of my heart, I am willing to hear.”

What Hubert described next, through impossibly red cheeks and lowered eyes, certainly did make Ferdinand blink. A series of scenarios, of _fantasies,_ if they could be called such a thing, spilled from Hubert’s mouth, one right after the other, meticulously planned.

Other than asking a few questions, clarifications and qualifications, Ferdinand sat back, their hands still linked.

“You think it obscene,” Hubert scoffed.

“No, not at all. I… it cannot be so unusual, that fixation, certainly. And you are sure it is not—“

“ _No, it is not,_ ” Hubert said with extreme prejudice.

“Alright. Alright. Forgive me. I just want to be sure. But… Hubert, this is nothing to be _ashamed_ of. You… this cannot be that unheard of. Do you have the supplies you need?”

“Yes,” Hubert said, swallowing tightly.

“Then… what time shall we begin?”

❦


	2. Memento Mori

The first foray into this secret world of Hubert’s came on a wildly busy Tuesday. Hubert hadn’t spoken to him all day, other than snorts and grunts, like a beast. True, the Kings of Faerghus and The Almyran Alliance were present, but they were easy to entertain, once they were with one another. The Emperor had long learned the best way to butter them both up to her brand of negotiations was to let the men take turns around the garden with one another in privacy so when they arrived at meetings, they glowed with a kind of limerence that was usually only achieved after days in the sauna.

That being said, while the Emperor and the Imperial Consort were having an early evening of card games and reminiscing with their royal guests, the head of the Imperial Household and the Prime Minister found themselves without tasks for a brief pocket of time.

Just as Ferdinand was debating if he might like to go for an evening ride during the golden hours of the day, Hubert pressed a small envelope into his hand, and hurried away, disappearing down a dark hall.

In Hubert’s hand, in dark ink, read a rather mysterious missive.

_Go into your quarters and lie in bed. Be still, as we discussed._

_Thanatos._

❦

Hubert was using a pen name? 

Thanatos, one of the ancient Fódlan gods, in a time before the Church of Seiros. They were a god of death, but never portrayed violently. After all, Hypnos, the god of sleep, was his half brother, and mythology said they often worked together. It suited, from what Hubert had told him.

Of the scenes they had discussed, this seemed the most tame. Perhaps he was starting slow. To be honest, Ferdinand was not entirely sure what _he_ was to get out of this little experiment, but he was going to humor him. If it gave Hubert pleasure, when so few things did, he would give it his all.

There were few instructions with this. He had to admit that the conversation he had with Hubert had haunted him-- or perhaps, lingered. It drifted through his mind as he approached his quarters, as he slipped off his boots.

  
❦

  
  
_“Ferdinand, are you familiar with Memento Mori?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I can’t say I am… it’s Old Adrestian, isn’t it?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Correct. It roughly translates to ‘remember that you will die,’ though it would be difficult to forget.” Hubert scoffed, rooting about through his desk._

_“What does that have to do with us?”_

_“The ancient adrestians were… very enamored of the memory of the dead, of mourning, and the practices associated with giving someone a proper send-off. Of remembering them, the thin line between life and death, and the beauty that could be found in honoring someone lost.”_

_Ferdinand had watched him remove a small antique frame from his desk, wrapped in velvet._ _  
_ _  
_ _“What is that?”_

_“A portrait,” he had explained, and brought the bundle to Ferdinand._ _  
_ _  
_ _He laid it on the serving tray, and unwrapped the velvet, opening the tiny diptych. It was indeed a portrait of a woman, along with a card on its opposite face. She appeared to be in bed, though not in the manner that most women were in portraits or etchings. Her eyes were closed, her hair brushed out on the pillow around her, a crown of flowers arranged on her head. Ferdinand thought of the fairy tales he and Edelgard read as children, with slumbering princesses being kissed awake._ _  
_ _  
_ _Except that was clearly not the case here. Despite her beauty, there were dark rings beneath her lashes, her lips pale, parted, and her hands were clasped around a bouquet of lilies, upside-down along her lap._ _  
_ _  
_ _Only then did he notice the card’s wording, pressed in dark ink._ **_In Loving Memory--_ **

_“She’s dead,” Ferdinand had said, his mouth dry._

_“Yes,” Hubert’s voice had been firm._

_Why was Hubert showing him this? Why did he hide it In his desk in the first place?_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Is-- was she a relative?”_

_“No, she is… someone I came across, she was… for sale.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“For sale,” he said in horror._ _  
_ _  
_ _“There was an estate sale for a disgraced lord who opposed our Lady Edelgard. When he was deposed, his household was auctioned. As minister of the imperial household, it was imparative for me to make appearances, to see if perhaps, there were items of use.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“...You went to a commoner’s yard sale.”_

_“An_ **_estate_ ** _sale.”_

_Ferdinand had traced the woman’s peaceful face, studying her._ _  
_ _  
_ _“She was in a box of bits and bobs, and… when I inquired to take her, the family was--_ **_embarrassed_ ** _to have owned something so morbid.” Hubert explained, “They intended to discard her.”_

_He frowned, running his thumb across the old glass._

**_In Loving Memory_ ** _._

_The dates were painfully short._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Records indicated it was cholera. She must have passed quickly,” Hubert went on, "You-- you see, there are, symbols, signs in the portraiture that indicate her time of death-- the clock on the wall, for example. And the lilies in her hands, symbols of youth, turned upside-down, snuffed too quickly. It would also be particularly common for this time period for her to bear an icon of a saint, or perhaps, a patron god, but--"  
  
Ferdinand didn't seem to hear him, focused on this piteous young woman's plight, beloved yet forgotten._

_“But they didn’t want her.” Ferdinand insisted. “Someone-- clearly loved her, they-- they did this for her, did they not? They wanted her to be beautiful, to-- to be remembered, and--”_

_And Hubert had crashed their mouths together._

❦

Right. Lie still, as discussed. He got onto the bed, still made from earlier, and scooted across the covers. Was he… meant to get under the covers? No, no. he was still clothed, that would be awkward. Just. Lie there.

What was he supposed to… to _get_ from this, he wondered? Was he going to be trussed up somehow, moved around? He had asked Hubert if perhaps he should get a sleeping draught from Linhardt-- most of which were powerful enough to knock him out for a day and feel nothing, but that hadn’t been the _point_ , Hubert had argued.

So he just lay there, blinking up at the canopy over his bed, a gaudy, red velveteen thing that Edelgard had called terribly tacky. As if her red getup wasn’t tacky as hell--

His train of thought was interrupted by the creak of the door, and he clapped his eyes shut in a hurry.  
  
In the darkness of his eyelids, he was reduced to other senses, and the most prominent suddenly was _scent._ The heady scent of flowers, lilies? Roses? Fresh from the garden, perhaps? He could hear Hubert let out a breath, the rustle of the flowers’ leaves as he shifted his hold on them. His boots were sharp, clacking close to the bed.

It was tempting to open his eyes, to smile up at him as he usually did, but Hubert had ordered him not to. He calmed his breath, his hands unfurling a little at his sides.

“Look at you,” Hubert said, his voice shockingly heavy-- it almost alarmed Ferdinand, knocked him out of his calm. It sounded like… like _grief._

Hubert’s hands brushed back his hair-- his hands, not his gloves. The touch was more tender than any way Hubert had ever caressed him, so careful, so _reverent._ Ferdinand let his lips part. This was so wildly removed from any Hubert he had ever known.

His head was cradled in one hand, and Ferdinand fought the urge to help, to sit up and let him shift. That wasn’t what Hubert wanted. The pillows were stacked, fluffed behind him, and he was gently lowered back, sinking into the down. His long hair was stroked out in long strands, his curls falling over his shoulders.

Next Hubert moved to his feet, arranging them, ankle to ankle, propped against one another. As he moved his heels, he gently massaged the soles of his feet.

This was… nice, Ferdinand realized. He understood that it was tightly wrapped in the veil of death, but yet… Would he do this, if he were gone? If he had fallen in battle? Would Hubert come to collect him, to-- to care for him?

His clothing was righted, the lapels smoothed, his cravat neatly arranged. It was strange to be handled, managed. Hubert took his left hand, and for a breath, Ferdinand could feel him trembling. He felt Hubert’s brow press against his palm as he let out a shudder that-- could’ve been a cry?

Was Hubert working through grief? Was grieving for _him_ , even in play?

Hubert kissed his fingers, taking his other hand. It was hard to not move, to stretch his digits to help Hubert, but that would destroy the illusion. Hubert lifted his hands one at a time, bringing them to rest peacefully across his breast.

That’s what this felt like. _Peaceful._

He was being cared for, _loved_ , in a strange way. _Remembered._ He wanted to reach up and reassure him-- _I am here._

His skin brushed his skin, as he laid his hands, one over the other-- right over left, across his still beating heart.  
  
Abruptly Ferdinand felt Hubert’s touch disappear, no longer arranging, no longer fussing. The lack of it made his stomach lurch, near fling the scene aside to leap into Hubert’s arms. _I am safe! I am here! I am here!_

But he felt himself-- perhaps, as a work of Hubert’s ministrations-- falling under the spell. Wanting, longing, to sink into the pillows that held him so carefully, to let himself be _worshipped,_ be loved. It was intoxicating. To be so peaceful, so calm.

Hubert returned, and he felt the flowers be tucked, one at a time, behind his ears, crowning his hair. Lilies, he could guess- roses were settled into his hands, slipped under them. Upside-down-- he would need to ask Hubert about that.

Now there was a patter, first on the bedclothes, and then across his body. He was being showered in rose petals, buried in them, drowning in them.

How graceful, how lovely-- to want to stay here forever, wrapped in roses and Hubert’s care. The serene countenance he felt must have shown on his features, despite his attempts to be still. _At rest, ready to be let go._

He must have been so relaxed he didn’t flinch at something flat and metal being laid over his eyes, one at a time. Coins, for the ferryman of the river of the dead. Hubert engulfed his clasped hands in his own, bent down, and pressed a lingering, longing kiss across his brow.

For a moment, he swore he could feel a tear dampen those lips.

Then, all touch vanished, and Ferdinand found himself strangely alone in the pose Hubert had laid him in, supported by the pillows, draped in flowers. Ferdinand was no stranger to pampering, to being groomed, fussed over. However… this was beautiful, tender. Reverent. Loving. He was wrapping Ferdinand in precious memory, a portrait of him at the height of his beauty-- he wanted to keep him this way, cherish him--

It wouldn’t have shocked him if Ferdinand’s heart stopped from the sheer burden of his emotions, before the coins were taken, and Hubert’s voice broke the reverie.

“Thank you,” Hubert said with a bit of a sniff. “I… I haven’t-- I didn’t think anyone would let me.”

Ferdinand felt no need to get up, still drunk on the feeling of wanting to sink, to be subsumed in the feeling of care, but he did open his eyes, amber and dark.

“Hubert… Heartwood, that was… lovely. It-- it was rather like-- like going to a spa, or-- or having a massage, or-- but it wasn’t like that at all. Can-- Why? Why are you so ashamed?”

“It is _death_ , Ferdinand. Playing at _death._ Holding-- a pretend visitation, pretend---”

It was that thought that made Ferdinand lift his hand, catching Hubert’s chin in his palm, drawing him down.

“Hubert. _Hubert._ That’s _theatre._ It’s _theatre._ How many operas where people die have we seen? How many _pretend_ deathbeds, how many poems have been written, hailing those who slip beyond while we hold the hand of the departed! _Beloved!_ ” He laughed, but it was not unkind, and he drew him into an embrace Hubert clearly didn’t expect.

“ _Nothing_ is wrong with you. You are-- this was terribly sweet-- nothing about this is wrong. We established you did not-- did not want to bed a corpse--”

Hubert’s grimace told him he had spoken too quickly.

“Exactly what people would think of me. You understand what I hear in the halls. That I _look_ like a corpse, and the horrible words they say about my dear Hemlock-- If they found out I-- I _played_ at being an undertaker…”

Ferdinand hurried to smooth his dark hair.

“You… this was _kind_ , Hubert. You-- you would do this for me, if I died? Take care of me like this?”

Now he could see the plethora of flowers spilled over the bed-- rushes, lilies, as he expected, roses. His favorite hybrids, the most beautiful varieties. Stunning, Hubert had spared nothing. There were even candles lit at the nightstand, flickering in the fading sun.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “Of course. Though if you tell _anyone_ -”

“Hubert, I won’t tell anyone,” Ferdinand promised, and brought him onto his makeshift bier, the play deathbed, “This-- I would be happy to do this-- do whatever you like. I rather liked it.”

“You-- you were so beautiful in the dying light.”

Bashful wasn’t typically a word that Ferdinand would use for Hubert, but… It was darling. His eyes were just that little bit of pink at the edges. He found himself filling with a little bit of pride as an actor. It was terribly theatrical, with the set pieces around him. The flowers, the candles, the coins laid over his eyes.

“Perhaps next time, we should acquire a coffin… I am sure one could be--”

Their mouths crashed together again.

❦

  
Ferdinand slept better than he had in weeks that night, remembering, dreaming about his hair being tended to by Hubert, his hands being arranged. What had been so vexingly enticing about what they had done? He was not nearly the actor dear Dorothea was, though he considered speaking to her as he lay, listening to the sound of Hubert's breath beside him.  
  
He flicked a dark curl from his face, his pale features lax. Through lack of meaningful sleep and straining in the dark, Hubert had acquired the shadowy bruises beneath his eyes, a pallor to his lips. Ferdinand felt flush all of a sudden and bent to kiss his brow, roll onto his other side.  
  
In the days that passed, despite Ferdinand's best efforts, they did not discuss it. Any efforts to broach the conversation were batted away.  
  
It wasn’t until the next visit from the Kings of Faerghus and the Almyran alliance that he received another message from _Thanatos_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time 4 me to be a nerd:
> 
> Memento mori portraiture was most common in the 19th and early 20th centuries, though the practice of painting images of the deceased have been around since recorded art! It was difficult to try and reconcile FE's ambiguous time period with what's going on here. So picture the portrait of the woman being either a daguerreotype or a little painting, either way!
> 
> The next two scenes will be equally morbid but not necessarily the same; I'm going with a Gothic Romance/Horror situation and who knows on the third!


End file.
